


Love-All

by angelowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Bachelor Fusion, F/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: Brienne was skulking behind a towering oak, the tiny fan she kept hidden in her purse on full blast. She wished she were anywhere but there in the Tyrells’ garden with the hot sun beating down on her, five minutes away from filming some stupid reality show.But as Margaery’s best friend and business partner, it was only expected she would be amongst those gathered to meet her new beau.If only her new beau weren’t Jaime Lannister, the notorious playboy who just so happened to be the latest bachelor featured on A Knight to Remember: the Lion Edition.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 68
Kudos: 207





	Love-All

Brienne was skulking behind a towering oak, the tiny fan she kept hidden in her purse on full blast. She wished she were anywhere but there in the Tyrells’ garden with the hot sun beating down on her, five minutes away from filming some stupid reality show.

But as Margaery’s best friend and business partner, it was only expected she would be amongst those gathered to meet her new beau.

If only her new beau weren’t Jaime Lannister, the notorious playboy who just so happened to be the latest bachelor featured on A Knight to Remember: the Lion Edition.

Brienne had despised him ever since she first saw his smirk plastered across the cover of GQ when she was a spotty-faced teen. The golden god had ranked #1 on their 30 under 30 list and looked so smug, so insolent and cocksure in the photo spread. So effortlessly gorgeous with those bright, dancing eyes and that criminal jaw line, she’d wanted to punch him in his perfect pearly whites.

He’d been involved in a high profile romance with actress Cersei Waters at the time, but then last year they’d had a very public, very messy break-up when she dumped him for up-and-coming musician Rhaegar Targaryen. Jaime had gone on a months’ long bender after that and self-destructed in a big way, his drunken antics making for great tabloid fodder. The paps had had a field day with all the damning photo ops he served up to them on a silver platter. 

The debauched prince stumbling out of bars wasted, brawling at this club or that, before finally earning himself a DUI and a one-way ticket to reality TV land to rehabilitate his image.

From what Margaery had told Brienne, this season was shaping up to be even more addictive than last. The ranks of her fellow contestants boasted a compulsive liar, a klepto, and a full-fledged stalker who’d been discovered hiding naked in Jaime’s bathroom, sniffing his shampoo and combing through her hair with his toothbrush. 

In addition, the reveal and subsequent meltdown of a secretly married, secretly pregnant contestant would make for an appropriately jaw-dropping mid-season plot twist.

But could anything really top the Stag Edition’s finale last season? The audience had been thrown for a loop when Robert Baratheon chose Lyanna Stark, giving her his antler, only for her to chuck it back at him, claiming he’d slept with every single woman on the set, including those behind the camera. Then several of those very same jilted lovers had pelted him with antlers of their own as the camera rolled. The ratings had been sky high.

Brienne loved Margaery like a sister, but she’d never understood her inclination to audition for some shitty reality show just to bolster their fashion line. But Margaery wouldn’t be swayed by her reservations. She’d been adamant, insisting that the publicity would be worth its weight in gold.

Of course, she’d been selected for the show. And, of course, she’d made it all the way to week 10 where the bachelor visits the hometowns of the three finalists. Had it ever been in doubt? 

Margaery was beautiful, clever, and charming. Too vivacious and elegant by far to be cast aside prematurely.

Jaime had already flown to Dragonstone for Daenerys then Winterfell for Sansa, and he was now capping off the week by visiting Highgarden to meet Margaery’s closest friends and family.

The Tyrells’ immaculately maintained rose garden had been chosen as the idyllic backdrop for the occasion. Why, oh why, couldn’t they have checked the weather forecast in advance and decided to shoot it inside their lavish estate? Where the central air kept it nice and cool?

Naturally, the Tyrells were thriving in the sweltering heat like the hothouse orchids they were. They flitted about in the garden in their fashionable, colorful ensembles, rare, tropical flowers bending toward the sunlight.

They may have been in full bloom, but Brienne herself was _wilting_ out there.

She’d dressed sensibly (and strategically) in a blue sundress and a cream loose weave shrug. The strappy sandals she’d slipped on at the last minute had turned out to be regrettably more stylish than comfortable. 

On a whim, she’d painted her toenails a delicate pink that morning. Nobody else would notice, but it was a small finishing touch that made her smile. And she’d needed that mood-booster today.

Being on TV was the stuff of nightmares for her. She dreaded appearing even just in the background of all the hubbub. She could already imagine the nasty comments from viewers after the episode aired about the camera adding fifty pounds along with a foot in height. 

Margaery’s hideous, gigantic, roly-poly best friend, that was her.

She’d gotten used to the role. The double-take people gave when they saw her looming over her petite, glamorous companion.

Brienne had discovered early on that you only got a pass for being a freakishly tall woman if you were either thin as a rail or if you took after a voluptuous Amazon, complete with the requisite hourglass figure. Skinny supermodel or Wonder Woman, that was it. You couldn’t be 6’4’’ and dare to be fat. Especially not her brand of fat.

If she weighed the exact same number on the scale, but carried it differently, things might’ve been salvageable. Real women have curves, and all that. But she had no bust nor booty to speak of.

Instead of possessing luscious curves, she was fat in a way that only made her appear more androgynous. She was flat-chested with thunder thighs, a pair of flabby upper arms she kept hidden under sleeves at all times, a sizable belly and a thick waist that’d glommed onto her hips so she resembled a great lump of a woman.

Thank god for the Tyrells who’d taken her under their wing and helped her build a wardrobe from scratch, searching out styles that were more flattering to her figure. And more specifically, thank god for the skilled tailors Olenna had enlisted in her efforts.

Over the years, Brienne had unearthed a heretofore unknown passion for fashion that had shocked even her. It was why she’d gone into business with Margaery and pushed for their clothing line to include plus sizes. 

In her late teens she rediscovered a love of color and patterns and textures she’d lost in childhood, and she’d realized she’d wanted to give that gift to other girls who didn’t fit the mold.

It shouldn’t have taken her until age 20 for it to dawn on her that she loved polka dots. That simply wearing polka dots lifted her spirits. As did the feel of cashmere or silk against her skin and accessorizing with a pretty necklace or a pair of sparkly earrings that drew the eye.

Just achieving that level of self-awareness had made her proud of how far she’d come. (Fuck you, Roelle, may you rot in hell.)

She liked that her sense of fashion was for her alone, an act of artistic expression that wasn’t designed to please anyone but herself. The fact that she couldn’t please anyone else with her looks even if she tried was moot. And freeing, in a way.

She wanted more girls to embrace that same joy and whimsy, and to learn to prioritize how they _felt_ in their wardrobe over outward appearances.

“Are you going to let me get in on the action?”

Brienne turned to see Jaime pointing at the mini-fan she was holding.

He was dressed in a casual suit, but he’d jettisoned the jacket and had rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows in deference to the stifling heat. 

The GQ photographer hadn’t done him justice. He was even better looking in person. All green-eyed and broad-shouldered and gilded, the sunlight bathing him in an otherworldly glow.

She’d never felt plainer.

Without a word, she handed him the fan and he directed it at his face. The wind tousled his hair and he closed his eyes, releasing a low groan of satisfaction that made her throat go dry.

Finally, he opened his eyes and lazily studied her, smiling slowly. “Thanks. You’re Brienne, right? The saintly best friend and business partner who’s practically perfect in every way.” There was something mocking in his tone. “Margaery’s told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already.”

He was smooth and charming and…fake. “I could say the same, although I didn’t need Margaery to enlighten me. You’ve been all over social media this past year. I feel like I know your whole life story,” she replied coolly.

He blinked, his practiced smile faltering. “Too right. If it’s on TMZ, it _must_ be the truth, mustn’t it? Tell me, what _has_ my little rose confided in you about her chivalrous knight?”

“Everything. There are no secrets between us,” she said and watched her words hit their mark. He knew she knew it was all a sham. “For what it’s worth, your gambit seems to be paying off. Everyone’s breathless with anticipation waiting for the new season of the show. Your DUI’s become nothing but a faint memory.”

He sneered at the dig and raked his gaze over the length of her, lingering briefly on what minimal skin was on display: her collarbones, her freckled forearms and calves. But she thought what made her feel most exposed was when he glanced at her goddamn pink toenails and smirked.

“You should consider auditioning for the series,“ he drawled sarcastically. "You’d make a fine contestant. So unique, one-of-a-kind, and delightfully candid. You have must-see-TV written _all_ over you.”

Even steeling herself for his cruelty hadn’t prepared her for the blow. It wasn’t so much what he’d said, but how he’d said it. In a scathing sing-song way that put her in her place.

She forced herself to stand her ground. She deliberately squared her shoulders and met his eye. “Even if I were less… _unique_ , I’d never take part in such a farce. Love isn’t a game. Or at least it shouldn’t be,” she muttered, unable to keep the distaste out of her voice.

The idea of love being transactional made her skin crawl. Her deep-seated hatred of the notion could probably be traced back to that nasty bet in school. The way those boys had pretended to like her in order to win the pot…it was all too similar to A Knight to Remember. Except in lieu of winning hearty back-slaps and some pocket change, Jaime was delivering an Oscar-caliber performance to finagle his way back into everyone’s good graces.

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he fixed her with a piercing stare. “Funny, you don’t seem to share the same disdain for your dear friend who eagerly entered into said farce for the same self-promotion shaped reasons you’re accusing me of.”

Brienne glared at him. He had her there and he knew it. She absently noted that he was of a height with her. It was strange to be able to look across at someone instead of down to hold their gaze. 

They stayed frozen, locked in stalemate, until he inexplicably reached out for her elbow. They both jolted at the contact. Her lips parted softly and his eyes darkened as he swallowed.

“Here, you should take this off.” He tugged at her cardigan, but she jerked away.

“I tend to run cool,” she insisted, crossing her arms.

“Tell that to your face." There was a teasing gleam in his eye as he pressed his knuckles to her burning cheek.

Brienne inhaled sharply and Jaime bit his lip as he thumbed the corner of her mouth.

“There you are,” Margaery called out to them and they hastily broke apart. She glided over, the heavenly scent of roses trailing in her wake. “My two worlds collide! My best friend and the man I hope to marry…”

The cameramen were done setting up so they rejoined the others to begin filming. Brienne tried to fade into the periphery as they brunched, letting the Tyrells’ idle chatter wash over her. The lot of them were all natural-born actors, perfectly at ease in front of the camera with a knack for improvisation. Their witty banter was so seamless, it could’ve been scripted.

Jaime kept glancing at her for some reason, but she averted her eyes, lest she be drawn into conversation.

Near the end of brunch, Olenna played her role of protective matriarch to the hilt, issuing menacing threats to dissuade Jaime from breaking her sweet, innocent granddaughter’s heart. As if the shrewd, cunning glint in her eye didn’t twinkle just as brightly in Margaery’s.

Jaime looked suitably intimidated, but he was quick to reassure them all about his intentions and to spare an indulgent smile for Margaery. Brienne knew the viewers would eat it up with a spoon.

Then, as if on cue, Loras said, “Tennis, anyone?”

Tennis had apparently always been on the agenda for the afternoon since they needed some action type footage to spice up the events of the day on camera. But Brienne hadn’t realized she’d be pressed into service until Margaery steered her inside and tossed her tennis whites at her.

Ever since her nanny Roelle had informed her at a young age that chubby girls should never wear white because it only accentuated their size, she’d been perversely intent on wearing white as much as she could just to spite her. 

She actually preferred the tennis top and skort to her sundress even though the outfit was more revealing since it was clothing with a purpose in mind. Utilitarian. If she was going to be gawked at, she’d rather it be when she was focused on what her body could _do_ instead of how it _looked_.

She felt at home on the tennis court, in her element, with her hair in a ponytail and a racket in her hand. It was she and Margaery vs Jaime and Loras. 

The men were formidable opponents, but not formidable enough.

The Tyrell siblings were fairly evenly matched. Skilled, but nowhere near her level. 

Jaime was better than expected. He had a powerful serve and there was a fluidity to his movements that kept her on her toes, but ultimately she was in the zone and couldn’t be stopped.

When stationary, standing or sitting around, Brienne was often self-conscious about her body, but in motion, her body never failed her. It was fast, strong, and agile. She was graceful even if she didn’t look it. Her single-handed backhand was a thing of beauty.

She was fit _and_ fat. A fact which confounded most people. It completely blew their misconceptions about size and health out of the water. 

That there was muscle, raw strength, beneath the soft roundedness of her body was a curiosity most incomprehensible to them. Her opponents inevitably underestimated her, but sooner or later they learned to fear her.

Today was no different. She beat them in straight sets, clinching the win with an ace on match point, and Margaery squealed with delight, coming in for a big hug.

Loras was always a sore loser and even with the cameras rolling, he wasn’t able to feign an attempt at sportsmanship. He threw his racket down and stomped off in a huff. His tantrum would need to be edited out of the footage later…Olenna would make certain of it.

But Jaime gamely shook their hands, congratulating them on their victory. When his hand lingered in hers, Brienne couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. Was that begrudging respect or wry amusement that he’d had his ass handed to him by a lumbering ox like her?

She blushed and turned away.

And then when Margaery tugged him over to get a drink, he kept darting little glances over at Brienne as she mopped her brow. It was unnerving.

Before Margaery’s flight, Brienne couldn’t help pulling her friend aside to ask if she was 100% sure she really wanted to see this through. If Jaime chose her and she accepted, she’d be locked into a fake engagement for a year with a man she didn’t love until they parted on ‘amicable terms,’ as per the agreement.

“I know there are…perks,” Brienne said, heat rising in her cheeks, “but are they enough to compensate for his checkered past and his blithe arrogance?”

“Ooh, please tell me more about these perks,” Margaery said slyly. When Brienne sputtered, she laughed. “We’re not sleeping together, Brienne! I mean, I wasn’t opposed to it. He’s hot, athletic, and has an oral fixation I’d kill to exploit, but when I propositioned him, he was upfront about wanting this to just be a business deal. He took the couch during our overnight session. And the other girls told me it was the same with them.”

Brienne gaped at her. She couldn’t imagine any red-blooded male turning down a woman like Margaery or Daenerys or Sansa. Wasn’t sex with flawless beauties the dream of every man? Wasn’t it indeed the entire point of the show itself? Otherwise, why model the premise on what basically amounted to a harem?

“Of course, the show will probably make him look like some kind of lothario, but in reality, everything stayed disappointingly PG-13. We each made out with him, but all just typical middle school fare. And only when the cameras were rolling.”

Brienne felt a stone lodge in her throat. Sometimes she hated how Margaery would carelessly rattle off stuff like that as if spending your teen years with your tongue in someone else’s mouth and their hand up your skirt was a universal experience. 

_Typical_. 

Brienne was well into her 20s and she’d yet to experience such ‘fare.’ Margaery knew all that, she just occasionally forgot to modify her generalizations in her presence.

“If he chooses me, I’ll say yes,” she continued. “There’s already been a spike in sales and the show hasn’t even aired yet. It’ll be good for both of us. You’ll see.”

Brienne smiled wanly and hugged her goodbye.

***

Regardless of what Brienne thought, Jaime hadn’t agreed to do the show to rebrand himself or pitch a new narrative. No, he’d signed on as an unqualified ‘fuck you’ to his father and the woman who’d broken his heart.

Embarrassing his father was always a laugh, but sticking it to Cersei would be even sweeter. 

He’d been utterly devoted to her since they were kids. His love for her had been unwavering, absolute. He’d only ever been with her, prided himself on that fact, but when he’d outgrown his usefulness, she’d thrown his fierce fidelity back in his face.

Bad enough that he was cast aside for another, but he’d been floored when she scornfully admitted she’d been routinely unfaithful to him over the course of their relationship. She’d called him a fool and scoffed, “Why are you surprised? I’m an actress. I can cry on cue just as easily as I can fake an orgasm. Lying is what I _do_ for a living.”

The revelation had turned his world upside down, tainting his memories, making him question his judgment and doubt his instincts. How could he be _that_ wrong about the one person he’d valued above all others? The betrayal had devastated him, wrecked him beyond all recognition.

After spiraling for months, he’d hit rock bottom and finally started putting the pieces of his life back together earlier this year. When his brother cheerfully informed him that the producers for A Knight to Remember were interested in him being their next bachelor, he’d felt like his prayers had been answered. The thought of living to take revenge had centered him, given him purpose.

Cersei may have decided she no longer wanted him, but she was just possessive enough not to want anyone else to have him either. And now she’d be forced to watch Jaime sit in a hot tub surrounded by sexy girls in skimpy string bikinis, desperately vying for his attention. She wouldn’t be able to resist tuning in.

Cersei had always been pathologically fixated on the irrational fear that some younger, more beautiful woman would come along and dethrone her, oust her from her pretty perch on high.

All three finalists fit the bill, but choosing Daenerys would wound her the most. 

Rhaegar positively doted on his baby sister. During Daenerys’ hometown visit in Dragonstone, Jaime had been darkly satisfied by how jealous Cersei had been. She’d been seething with it, all while having to put on a gracious act for the camera and her new husband.

He was sure the producers had been banking on there being fireworks when the exes came face to face at dinner. But both Jaime and Cersei had played their parts to perfection, greeting each other like old friends. It was only because he knew Cersei so well that he’d identified the strain around her eyes, the tension around her lips that betrayed her fury. All night she’d been dying to throw her goblet of wine in Jaime’s face. He’d met her eye and smirked knowingly, toasting her with his glass.

However, Brienne was right about one thing…it was all a farce. He hadn’t moved on from Cersei at all. He’d spent weeks kissing other women, going out on elaborate dates in breathtaking scenic locations and none of it had meant anything to him. Maybe he was dead inside now. Cersei had sucked the life out of him like some kind of vampire.

But on the return flight, he recalled Brienne on the tennis court, her flushed face dewy with sweat, her ponytail whipping in the wind, the savage grunts she made each time she served another ace, the triumph that lit up her big blue eyes as she well and truly walloped them. All of it had stirred something in him he’d thought lost. The entire experience had been…bracing.

“I don’t think your friend took a liking to me,” he said to Margaery who was seated beside him in first class.

She smiled fondly. “Brienne’s just protective of me, that’s all.”

“But she knows the truth? About us? Our arrangement?” He knew she did, but he was hoping Margaery would explain why Brienne seemed to blame him for the charade. Shouldn’t he get points for being upfront and candid about his true intentions with the show’s finalists and not toying with their affections for his own ends?

The passengers nearest them were asleep, but Margaery still lowered her voice. “I told her and Grandmother, of course. They can both be trusted. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell any of my loose-lipped brothers. If you choose me in the finale, Grandmother plans to offer you a position at the company, mainly because it’d enrage your father if she tried to steal his heir out from under him.”

Jaime could easily imagine the pinched look on his father’s face. It’d be priceless. “And Brienne? How does she feel about all this?”

He’d detected a note of derision in her voice when they spoke before, but he was curious if Margaery would try to paper over her friend’s contempt. To her credit, she didn’t.

“She disapproves,“ Margaery said with a sigh. "Of the show...the PR stunts. Bristles at the very notion of a fake engagement. Deceit is not in her nature. What you see is what you get with her.”

Even after all these weeks, Jaime hadn’t been able to get a bead on Margaery. With her honeyed words and calculating smiles, she reminded him all too much of Cersei. But this time he’d seen the carefully crafted persona for what it was: an illusion instead of reality.

Her artifice had served his purposes, though. He hadn’t been interested in breaking any hearts so he’d whittled the contestants down to three polished, savvy, and ambitious women who’d patently gone on the show to advance their careers not find love.

Margaery was smart, the most conniving of the trio he suspected, but he didn’t think there was genuine malice lurking beneath her sweet façade. Time to see if he was mistaken.

“Your brother called her Big Brienne,” he said, keeping his voice deceptively mild as if he hadn’t almost decked the asshole over it. “Said he was sorry she’d been invited to brunch since he knew she didn’t exactly project the right image. Implied you only kept her around so you’d shine that much brighter in comparison.”

Jaime watched her closely to see how she’d react. Would she gently chide her brother for his casual cruelty? Laugh that melodious laugh of hers as if amused by his cattiness?

All the sweetness drained from her face, evaporating as if it’d never been, as her eyes narrowed to slits and she bared her teeth at him.

“He _would_ say that,” she snapped. “He’s just bitter Grandmother has always liked Brienne more than him. And he’s still carrying a stupid grudge over a boy he had a crush on asking her to dance once when we were kids. He’s a petty little shit like that.

“Brienne is my best friend. My family. Closer than a sister. She was there today because she’s the person I love most in this world so no, I wouldn’t use her or think any of the ugly things my brother insinuated. The truth is Brienne outshines all of us with her honesty and bravery and _heart_. She’s fucking glorious and lights up _any_ room and you should get your vision checked if you think otherwise!”

He held up his hands in surrender. He got the feeling he’d just met the real Margaery Tyrell. And he liked her a hell of a lot more than the demure media-darling she’d been playing all season.

He cocked his head to the side, marveling at the storm brewing in her gaze, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as if she were spoiling for a fight. “You sound like you’re in love with her…” he ventured slowly.

Margaery didn’t take offense. She simply shrugged. “A bit. Believe me, if she swung that way, I’d have locked her down years ago. Unfortunately, Brienne isn’t as flexible as I am in these matters. She’s relentlessly straight with not even a dollop of bi-curiosity.”

Jaime laughed, unaccountably relieved, and just like that, the tension was broken. They both relaxed back into their seats.

“If you select me, you’ll be seeing more of Brienne in the year ahead, too, so I’m warning you now that if we agree to this charade, you’ll need to keep a civil tongue in your head. She’s had a lot of crap thrown at her and I won’t tolerate shitty remarks being directed her way from my fiancé, fake or no. If I’d heard what Loras said about her today, I’d have thrashed him with my tennis racket.”

Jaime grinned, relishing the thought. “The cameramen would’ve loved that.”

“So would Grandmother.”

***

The finale was even tackier than Jaime had feared. He felt cheap and tawdry as he beheld the three finalists in their matching golden tiaras and veils, the get-up clearly meant to signify a mane fit for a lion.

The moment had come for him to lift the veil of his chosen bride-to-be. Would it be the brunette, the redhead or the platinum blonde?

The show had gone to great lengths to present Margaery as the sophisticated fashionista, Sansa as the down-to-earth girl next door, and Daenerys as the exotic, fiery sexpot.

All three women would rightfully chafe at being pigeonholed like that. Just as Jaime chafed at being labeled the billionaire’s rebellious son who was on a path of redemption all for the love of a good woman.

He thought of the year ahead. He could choose Daenerys, as planned, and spend the next year within arm’s reach of Cersei. Trapped in some toxic, diabolical one-upmanship with his ex.

Or he could choose something else. He could go to Highgarden and work with the Tyrells and maybe play some more tennis with Brienne.

Put that way, there was really no choice at all. He lifted Margaery’s veil.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a tumblr anon based on the prompt - chubby/fat Brienne.
> 
> I think this is the first fic I've written where I had Brienne be super antagonistic to Jaime right off the bat. I mean, she's totally the reason they started off on the wrong foot here. I usually have Jaime's behavior be more of a contributing factor, but in this case he really was trying to be friendly at least at first and she just wasn't having any of it lmao. 
> 
> I kind of love it because it mirrors Book Jaime making that initial attempt to get along with Brienne (albeit to get her to lower her guard so he can escape) and her loathing him so much she spits Kingslayer at him and then that's it, they're off. 
> 
> I'm still working on a few other prompts, but I do hope to return to this 'verse at some point because it'd be fun to explore what happens over the next year.


End file.
